


Imagine

by orphan_account



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little drabble collection for Vexshipping, inspired by the <a href="http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com">Imagine your OTP</a> tumblr.</p>
<p>There is going to be copious amounts of fluff, but also some serious stuff...and some of my personal favorite, Anzu and Bakura being awful towards each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. peaceful

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble is inspired by [this](http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/33454351021/imagine-your-otp-laying-in-bed-tangled-up-in-each) prompt! Lots of snuggles and rain.

They’re wound together with each other and the sheets, and it’s actually peaceful for once. Peaceful moments are rare to come by, for them. He is anger and motivation; she is determination and passion. Just laying together quietly is unusual.

Rain hits the window, and Anzu twists away to watch it pour down.

She has a pensive little expression on her face, and Bakura rather wants to kiss it away. He’s not usually one for sentimental sweetness like that, but he’s not usually one for laying with someone calmly in bed either.

Her eyebrows are furrowed together and he knows she isn’t really watching the raindrops crawling down the window. Bakura runs a hand up her side, cool and collected, stopping at her neck. He leans in, nips at the shell of her ear, before he talks in what is barely a whisper.

“What’s on your mind, Mazaki?”

Anzu turns a little bit to look at him, and frowns. “Are you really going to go through with your plan to fight Yugi?”

…Oh. That’s what was bothering her?

“Of course.” He hasn’t told her about Kul Elna. He doesn’t plan to. He doesn’t _want_ to make her dislike her friend. He just wishes she didn’t like him in the first place. It’d be so much easier if Yugi had just never met her. If they’d never been friends. He grimaces. “Of course,” Bakura repeats himself.

There’s a clap of thunder suddenly, and Bakura falls off the bed, startled. The dreary mood is washed away on Anzu’s delighted laughter.

“What was it you called yourself? Bakura, the Thief King? The Oh-So-Great Thief King who can’t even keep himself in his bed!”

Bakura scowls up at her from the floor.

She grins and extends a hand down to him, offering help. He pointedly ignores it and swings himself back up into the bed. He can see the way she pushes her eyebrows up at him, as if to say, ‘Really, Bakura, really?’

There’s a flash of lightning that washes over the room, and it’s back to being peaceful again.


	2. cinnamon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is inspired by [this]() prompt! Lots of kissing in a dirty alley and questioning of morals.

He’s towering over her. It’s _terrifying._ His white hair stands up while he hisses at her. He’s talking about justice and murder and how he’s going to get his revenge on Yugi and the Pharaoh. He moves towards her, and she steps back, and for a moment it’s like a dance number, and then she hits the wall of the street.

The bricks are cold against her back, and he leans over her. His face is too close.

He pauses in his torrent of words, and all Anzu wants is for it to stop forever. He is just too angry and old and sad for it to ever change. If he just stopped, forever, everything would be better. She cannot change it. He cannot change it. He just needs…to stop.

Anzu shuts him up the only way she knows how. Her hands on his lapels, her lips on his. He’s strangely chilly, though he wears a jacket and his lighter counterpart is almost scorching hot to the touch. He tastes like the earth and cinnamon mixed together. He tastes angry and old and sad, and Anzu kind of likes it.

He stops, forever, just stops. His mouth is slightly agape, but Anzu doesn’t dare venture further than a slight touch of the lips.

He’s scary. And right now, he’s _scared._

She pulls away, for a second, and says the only things she can think of. “Stop talking. Stop your words, just, stop.”

He looks at her and considers.

She’s on her tiptoes suddenly, he’s yanked her up by her waist up to his mouth, up to his height. Their lips are touching, again, but it’s not bad. It’s actually kind of nice.

When he pulls away, he’s breathless, and so is she. Anzu is certain that her cheeks are flushed, certain that he can hear every little pant of breath she lets out.

Neither of them knows what to do, and both look away awkwardly. Bakura lets go of her waist, and they don’t move.

Anzu misses the taste of cinnamon and earth. She misses the slight chill Bakura gives off even through a jacket.

She heads home without looking back.

She considers sleeping with the enemy, and whether or not it’s truly such a horrible thing as she’d thought it to be before.


	3. better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my own little domestic prompt this time!

When she wakes up and drags herself out of bed to the kitchen, there are blueberry pancakes on the counter and coffee. They’re still both warm, still smell delicious, but Bakura is nowhere in sight.

If he doesn’t want to be found, she knows she won’t be able to find him, so she doesn’t try. She isn’t going to waste her time. He’ll show up eventually. Anzu simply sits down at the counter and digs in.

The pancakes are delicious, and Anzu marvels at how a three thousand year old spirit became so amazing at cooking. She knows he’s eaten gross things – he keeps bothering her about trying _snake,_ because apparently it’s delicious – but he manages to make mundane food just fine. More than just fine. Excellently.

The coffee less so, but he’s working on it.

When she’s done with breakfast, Anzu heads back to the bedroom and pulls off Bakura’s oversized shirt she’d stolen last night to sleep in. She dresses in her own clothes, skirt and blouse, hose and heels.

She plans on heading to the game shop to laze about with Yugi, Jounouchi, and Honda, but there is always the possibility that Bakura will show up and sweep her off for something ridiculous, spontaneous, and vaguely misanthropic. Anzu has stopped trying to figure out which one she’d like to do more, and just accepts whatever one happens that day.

Anzu leaves the house, locking the door behind her. She hurries through the streets towards the game shop, on the lookout for a shock of gorgeous white hair.

He doesn’t show up. That’s fine. She has her own things to do, and he his.

Yugi, Jounouchi, and Honda are already waiting in Yugi’s room when she arrives, and they’re excited to see her. The plan of the day is ice cream and diner waffles.

It’s a good day, to relax with her friends and laugh about their latest exploits. To mother-hen Jounouchi, just a bit, when she hears about his old gang hassling him.

When she falls into bed and finds Bakura already there, finds him pulling her closer to his chilled body, it makes a good day better. She snuggles into him.

“What did you do today, gorgeous?”

She doesn’t see him shrug, but she feels it. “Go to bed. You’re exhausted. We can talk tomorrow.”


End file.
